


sometimes the smallest things weigh us down

by QueenWithABeeThrone



Series: there will be music despite everything (sw/mcu au) [5]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anakin Needs a Hug, Confessions, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Identity Reveal, Past Relationship(s), also messing with the mcu timeline, and a punch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 01:03:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9049060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenWithABeeThrone/pseuds/QueenWithABeeThrone
Summary: “I just thought you were a closet Star Wars fan who had funky powers,” says Darcy. “Not, like, Darth Vader, that’s a whole different ball game.”
or: Anakin Skywalker makes a confession, and Darcy Lewis makes a decision. meanwhile, a special strike force in SHIELD heads to DC just a little too late.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **spoilers for Rogue One from here on out.** the Rogue One team plays a significant role in the TWS storyline, tho they're not gonna meet Anakin, Thor  & co. for a while yet.
> 
> title is from Alice B. Fogel's "[No Less](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/91637)".
> 
> content warning for depiction of depression. (also, if you saw a continuity error earlier, it's just been fixed! now, *waves hand* _you didn't see anything_.)
> 
> ((in this 'verse, pls assume Maria Hill is played by Indira Varma.))

Anakin wakes up.

For a moment he’s not sure where he is--not on the Death Star, and Luke is nowhere to be seen. He sucks in a breath and is surprised to find he can _do_ that, just breathe in and out by himself, no machine doing it for him.

Then it crashes back down on him--the accident, his life afterwards, New Mexico, _Thor_ , New York, the Aether, Asgard, Svartalfheim, the storm. He sits up, gathers the warm woollen blanket around himself, and shrinks a little into the blanket to ward off the cold.

“Hey, you’re awake!” Darcy calls from the kitchen. “Thank fuck, you were out for like almost a whole day.”

“Oh,” says Anakin, and his voice comes out hoarse. “You okay? Where’s everybody else?”

“Ahsoka went out to buy groceries, Erik went to the police for his hearing, Thor’s off in Asgard working out problems with his dad, and Ben’s running his café,” Darcy answers, emerging from the kitchen with a nice hot bowl of instant ramen and a cup of water.

“Yeah, we did commit a little bit of treason on our way out,” Anakin mutters absent-mindedly, grabbing at the cup with shaky fingers and downing the whole thing in one go. Then it registers: “Wait, Ahsoka?”

“Yeah, she told me her real name like, right after you passed out in Thor’s arms,” says Darcy. “She did say some stuff about you, but it was all really vague and I didn’t get anything.” She shoves the bowl in his face and says, “You gotta explain, man.”

“Now?” says Anakin, trembling a little at the idea. Years ago he wouldn’t be shaking in his boots at telling somebody of his crimes, but then, years ago, the only crime that was ever on his record was one count of public indecency.

Darcy sighs. “Okay, not now,” she says, and he relaxes. “Just, like, later, when Erik and Ahsoka are back.”

“Yeah,” says Anakin, exhaling. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“You up to answering any of my questions, though?” says Darcy.

Anakin hesitates, fingers curling around the bowl of ramen. “Yes, I guess,” he says.

“You know Skywalker’s a fake last name, right?” says Darcy. “It’s in _Star Wars_. There’s no way your mom’s name was Skywalker.”

“It was,” says Anakin. “It’s--hard to explain.” But it does answer the question of why he’d freaked out at a Halloween costume--it had been of _his suit_ , and some part of him knew the pain and the misery that came with it even without the memory. You don’t get costumes if you’re not a popular character. “But I promise I’m telling the truth. And that I’m not crazy.”

Darcy sighs. “That’s kinda debatable,” she says. “I mean, you were possessed, and then you got dragged off to Asgard. Who’s to say you didn’t lose it at some point?”

Anakin lets out a breath, sips at the bowl. “I have lost it before,” he says. “The reason why I know I haven’t now is--well.” _I’m not murdering people,_ he doesn’t say.

Darcy frowns, pushes her glasses up with the heel of her hand, and says, “Well, what?”

“You’ll find out,” says Anakin. “When Erik gets here. I’ll explain everything.” He hesitates for a moment, before saying, “You should go looking for another internship right now, probably. I’ll write a recommendation letter for you. If you want.”

“Okay, you’re definitely acting weird,” says Darcy. “I’m good here, thanks.”

Anakin shrugs. “Offer’s still on the table,” he says. “And--for what it’s worth, you were the best intern I could ever ask for.”

“I’m the only intern you’ve ever had,” says Darcy, dryly.

“No, seriously, you’re the best,” says Anakin, honestly.

Darcy shrugs, nods slightly, then stands up. “I gotta go, I promised Ahsoka I’d meet up with her for lunch,” she says.

“Don’t have sex on the first date!” he calls after her, as she shuts the door behind her.

\--

“Oh, shit,” says Darcy, scrolling through her Facebook feed, waiting on her scone.

Ahsoka leans over. “What?” she says.

Darcy pushes the phone into her hands, lets Ahsoka watch the short videos that people have been uploading of the Greenwich Incident, as they’re calling it now. “We’re so screwed,” she says. “I think somebody caught you doing that thing with your lightsabers.”

“Nah, it’s too shaky and they’re too far away,” says Ahsoka. “But you’re right, this is definitely worrying.” She sighs, places the phone down on the table, and slumps down in her chair, dragging her hand down her face. “This was way easier when you didn’t have to worry about civilians carrying cameras around,” she says.

Darcy squints at her.

\--

Selvig comes back first, talking at length about Scotland Yard and how incredibly _ungrateful_ some people are, and Anakin makes him a cup of coffee and sweetens it exactly the way he knows Selvig likes.

Darcy comes back second, with Ahsoka beside her, the two of them talking about Greenwich and cameras and becoming gay icons for a new generation of geeks. Anakin makes them both coffee as well, and drops three spoonfuls of sugar into Ahsoka’s, despite how it personally makes his soul die a little inside to make it so sweet.

“You’re being nice today,” says Selvig, squinting suspiciously up at him as he sits down.

“I’m always nice,” Anakin argues, but his hands shake, his heart races. He wonders if he can play the amnesia card again, but--he’d promised.

 _I’m here,_ Ahsoka sends. Anakin catches her eye from across the table, catches the way she smiles, soft and sad and reassuring.

He sighs, and says, “My name’s Skywalker. Anakin Skywalker.”

Selvig says, “What in the _fuck._ ”

“No,” says Darcy, “okay, _no._ ” She waves a hand, says, “See, Doc, this is what I was talking about earlier!”

“And I said _I’m not crazy,_ ” says Anakin. “I mean, okay, I wouldn’t know if I’ve snapped, but you saw me levitating a spike, Darcy, _and_ wielding a lightsaber. What did you think I was doing?”

“I just thought you were a closet _Star Wars_ fan who had funky powers,” says Darcy. “Not, like, _Darth Vader_ , that’s a whole different ball game.”

“He’s telling the truth,” says Ahsoka, suddenly. “I was his padawan in the Clone Wars. We’re both from another universe.”

“I know it’s hard to accept--” starts Anakin.

“It’s hard to accept because that’s not something that’s possible,” says Selvig. “I should know. I was old enough to see the originals when they came out, there’s just no way you could be Darth Vader.”

“Hater,” Darcy says, pointing at Selvig. “But also true. You told me you came from _Illinois_.”

“I said my file says I came from Illinois,” says Anakin. “That thing is full up to the brim with bullshit, apparently.”

“Look, John,” says Selvig, with a sigh, “if this is your idea of a joke, it’s not all that funny. Though I do have to applaud you getting Ashley in on it.”

“It’s _not a joke_ ,” snaps Anakin, and beyond them, the mugs on the counter start to rattle. He reins in his agitation, his anger, and breathes in, out. “Trust me, I wish I were joking. I’ve never even seen those movies you’re talking about.”

“Hard to believe, considering who you’re claiming to be--”

“Okay,” Darcy interrupts, “there’s only one way to prove it. How did Han Solo and Luke Skywalker meet? And who shot first between Han and Greedo?”

“Really,” says Ahsoka. “That’s what you’re going with?”

Anakin stares at Darcy, and shrugs. “I have no fucking clue,” he says, honestly. “Probably they met in a cantina, that’s where you can usually find people like Solo, but fuck only knows what for.”

“Han shot first,” Selvig mutters. It’s clearly a sticking point with him.

“Of course he did,” says Anakin, “Greedo can’t do anything worth _shit_.”

“Wow, okay, that’s freaky,” says Darcy. “Next question: what was on the message Leia sent to Obi-wan Kenobi?”

“You realize I have no idea what you’re talking about, right, Darce?” says Anakin, dryly. “I never saw that message. I assume it was something concerning the Death Star plans, appealing for his help in fighting the Empire, something like that.”

“ _Help me, Obi-wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope,_ ” says Ahsoka, absently, like she’s remembering something. She’s seen the movies, he remembers her telling him about that, so this--this must be a quote. From _Leia._

It hurts, to think of her, to know how badly he failed her as a father.

“Can we move on?” says Selvig, impatiently. “There’s no point to this line of questioning, Darcy--”

“There is a point,” says Darcy, “and I’m gonna get there. Anyway, next question: what happened to Luke on Bespin?”

“I cut his hand off and told him I was his father,” says Anakin. “He was holding on to a tower at the time, so when I offered him the galaxy, he--kinda said no. Spectacularly. Actually he let go of the tower and fell a few thousand feet.” Which is just another failure to put on the pile.

Darcy scrunches her nose up. Ahsoka shoots him a look of judgment, and Anakin looks down at his cup of coffee, only slightly nervous.

“But I have to agree with Selvig,” he says, “I have no idea where this is going--”

“Last question, I swear,” says Darcy. “Who killed Padmé Amidala?”

Anakin’s breath hitches in his throat.

( _LIAR!_ )

He’d killed her. The love of his life, his wife, his angel, the mother of his children and the first person he’d ever loved so completely, so deeply, and he’d _killed her_.

He pushes his mug away, hands shaking uncontrollably. He can’t see anything, through the tears welling in his eyes. He can hardly breathe or speak, for the lump that’s settled in his throat. Darcy may as well have punched him in the gut, because it feels as if all the wind has been knocked out of him.

Darth Vader hadn’t been the one to choke Padmé on Mustafar. That’s a logical fallacy, assuming Vader is a different person from he is, because Vader is Anakin and therefore Anakin was the one who closed his fist and choked her through the Force and therefore Anakin Skywalker who loved her so much was the one who _killed her_ \--

He killed her. She lived to give birth but _he might as well have killed her_.

“Anakin?”

“I killed her,” he chokes out, not looking up, sorrow and grief and self-loathing twisting his heart inside out. He’s known the pain of being burned alive. This is comparable, this hurts in a deeper way, this wound has never healed. _It seems, in your anger, you killed her_. “I-- _I_ killed her. Not Obi-wan, not Palpatine, not anyone, just me, _I killed her._ ”

“Oh,” says Darcy, sounding horrified. “You weren’t lying.”

“Oh,” says Selvig, faintly.

“Leave,” says Anakin, trying to catch his breath, “ _leave_ , please, it’s safer for you if you leave. Find another internship, find another protégé, please just go and stay _safe_ , please, _please_.”

\--

The door shuts.

Anakin breathes out.

“They’ll come back,” says Ahsoka, the only one to have stayed.

“They won’t,” says Anakin, voice hoarse from talking. He’s _exhausted_ , he realizes, in that bone-deep way that makes him too tired for emotions, too tired to even think. How is that even possible, when he’d slept for nearly a day? “You saw.”

“Anakin--”

He stands up, pushes his hair back with a hand. “I’m going to go to bed,” he tells her. “The offer’s open to you, too.”

Ahsoka shakes her head. “I told you, I’m not leaving you,” she says.

“You have your own life, your own apartment,” says Anakin. “I’ll just drag you down.”

Ahsoka lets out a long sigh. “I am not going to cut you out of my life,” she says, stubbornly. “I’ll go to my apartment, fine. I do have a lot of things I need to do there. But you don’t get to tell me to cut you off, because that’s my decision to make, and I already decided long ago that I’d stick around this time.”

Anakin opens his mouth.

“And _don’t_ say it’s because of my own guilt,” says Ahsoka. “I know some of it is. But you’re my friend, and I’m not going to leave you all alone.” She crosses her arms, says, “I’ll go, but I’ll check on you. Does that sound good to you?”

Anakin lets out a tired sigh. “Okay,” he says. He’s too exhausted to argue with her, to argue with anyone. “Okay.”

“Good,” says Ahsoka. “Can I hug you?”

Anakin pauses, then he looks down at himself, at his old cardigan and sweatpants. “My clothes are a day old,” he says, “but fine. If it helps.”

“It does,” says Ahsoka, and she moves in to hug him, drawing him in close. After a moment’s hesitation, Anakin wraps his arms around her as well, holds her a little tighter than he should, then lets her go. “I’ll come back,” she promises.

He watches her leave, then, every step heavier and heavier, he trudges his bed, crawls under his covers, and goes to sleep.

\--

Darcy’s accumulated enough days off that she can comfortably blow off three days on Netflix marathons and sleep, is the thing. And after the past few days, she deserves Netflix and _actual_ chill.

She finds her cousin Gwen’s apartment first--having a cousin in London works wonders for a girl, really, though Darcy has to take a bus to get to Oxford University and gets completely lost for about half an hour. But anyway--Gwen’s apartment.

“Dr. Foster fire you?” says Gwen, flopping down on the couch beside Darcy.

Darcy shakes her head. “Nah, I’m just taking a few days off,” she says. _Just._ Ha. Her whole perspective on the universe and on John Foster ( _Anakin Skywalker_ ) has just been flipped completely upside-down. “You know, ‘cause of the Incident and all.”

Gwen wrinkles her nose. “Yeah, that’s a pretty good excuse,” she says. “On the bright side, there’s no classes today or tomorrow. Something about roads in Greenwich being cleared of debris and, um. Bodies of aliens.”

Darcy sighs, leans back against the couch, and says, “Speaking of aliens, you’re a science person. Is the multiverse theory a thing, and can you travel from one universe to another?”

“I’m a biochemist, that’s not my area,” says Gwen. “I can tell you about splicing genes from different animals and the unpleasant side-effects, but I know as much as your average science fiction writer about the universe at large.” She makes a face, says, “Let alone travel to _another_ universe.”

“Okay, make something up, then,” says Darcy.

“It is totally a thing,” says Gwen. “But traveling from one universe to another is--well, I’d guess it’s hard. And also, a one-way trip.”

Darcy lets out a long breath. “I guess,” she says. “Hey, were you ever friends with someone who turned out to be--not everything they said they were?”

Gwen’s quiet for a moment, her blue eyes sliding away from Darcy to focus on the laptop screen, displaying Luke dragging his father across the floor to safety. “Yeah,” she says, quiet.

“What did you do?” Darcy asks.

“I broke up with them because of the whole keeping secrets thing,” says Gwen. “But if your friend’s willing to be honest with you--talk to them. Communication always works pretty well, I’ve found.”

Darcy breathes out. “And if they’ve done some sucky, sucky things in the past?” she asks.

“I guess it all depends,” says Gwen, after a moment’s pause. On the screen, Anakin Skywalker looks up at his son with his own eyes. “On the degree of all the sucky things and how much regret they have for it, I guess. I know I have one friend who did a _really_ terrible thing to my other friend, and--they’re not exactly hanging out anymore, but my other friend misses them.” She sighs, says, “I guess in the end, it’s up to you. I mean, definitely cut them loose if they’re actively robbing banks and don’t give a shit about it, but otherwise--you’re a smart girl, Darcy.”

Darcy looks up at her cousin, who’s laced her fingers together. “You talk like you got a lot of experience,” she says.

Gwen shrugs, and smiles wanly. “Well, like I said, I used to date someone with a lot of secrets,” she says. “Hey, I always liked this part.”

Darcy looks down at the screen. _You were right,_ breathes Anakin, dying, looking up at his son. _You were right about me._

“He was right,” says Darcy, realizing.

“Who was right?” says Gwen.

“Nothing,” says Darcy, thinking of a white lightsaber and a storm. _Tell your sister you were right._

\--

_I’ll tell you what I want, what I really--_

Anakin pushes his head up from the pillow, glares blearily at his phone before he sighs and reaches out, swipes his thumb across the screen.

“Hey, Skyguy,” says Ahsoka. “You alive?”

“Sleeping,” Anakin mutters. He should be doing other things, he knows--writing lecture notes, drafting papers, cross-referencing and reconciling data, all those things that come with being a scientist. But none of that appeals, right now. _Nothing_ appeals. “What?”

“I’m checking in,” says Ahsoka, on the other end. “You should definitely avoid going anywhere near Greenwich University for the next few days, though.”

“Yeah, you have a point,” says Anakin, massaging his forehead with the heel of his palm. It’s going to be hell going anywhere now, he thinks. “I’m fine. What time is it?”

“Half past eight PM, why?”

“ _Shit,_ ” says Anakin, mentally calculating. He’d gone to sleep at one, which means he’s been asleep for seven hours. And he still feels tired, somehow. Goddammit, sometimes he hates the way his own brain works. “Shit, _fuck_ \--”

“I’m guessing from the swearing you didn’t know,” says Ahsoka. “Anakin?”

“Seven hours,” says Anakin. “Uh. Fuck, no, I _didn’t_ know, I didn’t plan on sleeping for seven hours, I still feel like shit.” He has to move, he thinks. All the movement he manages is rolling over from the warm side of his bed to the cold side.

“You okay?” says Ahsoka.

“I’m fine,” says Anakin. “It’s just--PTSD. Something stemming from it, anyway.”

“So you’re not fine,” says Ahsoka. “Okay. Pull out a bed, I’m sleeping over.”

“Snips--”

“I finished up with everything I was going to do today, anyway,” says Ahsoka. “Everything else, I can do tomorrow.”

Anakin sighs. “Okay,” he says, “fine. I’ll make you dinner?”

“I already ate, but I’ll get you some on my way,” says Ahsoka. “Did you develop any new allergies?”

“No,” says Anakin. “Um. I don’t like liver, though.”

“You’ve never liked liver,” says Ahsoka, with a huff of laughter. “I’ve seen you eat bugs and roasted rats, but I’ve never seen you eat anything that even vaguely resembled a liver.”

“They taste _awful_ , can you blame me,” Anakin mutters. He feels almost normal again, slipping into his old back-and-forth with Ahsoka with so much ease that it surprises him, in a distant way. “No livers.”

“No livers, got it,” Ahsoka cheerfully says. “See you in twenty, Skyguy!”

“See you in twenty, Snips,” Anakin echoes, before Ahsoka hangs up on him. He sighs, pushes his hair back with his hand, and swings his legs off the bed, gets to his feet. He’s still wearing his cardigan and sweatpants, and he can’t really be bothered to change out of it, so he trudges out of his bedroom through his sleepy, depressed haze and goes to work, pulling out the sofa bed and fixing it up so it looks halfway presentable.

Nothing to be done about the rest of the apartment. He’s in no shape to even try.

\--he at least has to make Ahsoka something. She’s coming over to make sure he doesn’t starve himself to death, or sleep all week, and she’s already done so much for him that he feels kind of terrible already. What kind of friend is he, anyway, to return everything that’s ever been done for him with death and despair?

A horrible one. Also, overall, a horrible person, but that’s not new.

He wonders, briefly, if Darcy’s willing to make a grocery run at this late an hour, then remembers--she’s gone. So’s Selvig.

He touches the handle of the cupboard and lets out a shuddering breath. Darcy isn’t coming back. She left. She _left_.

He misses her. He misses Selvig. He misses them both like he’d miss his own breathing, like someone carved his heart right out of his chest.

They’re gone.

\--

(“So how was the buffet?” says Selvig, as John slides into the seat across from him. It’s been a long conference, and John just wants it over with so he can go home and cry over _Brokeback Mountain_. “I’m guessing from that look you hated it.”

“I just discovered something about myself,” says John, dropping his files onto the table. “I hate liver. It’s disgusting and it’s awful and it feels gross in my mouth.”

“You ate escargot once,” says Selvig, an amused smile creeping across his face as the waitress drops off their snacks.

“Escargot is fine,” John says, stubbornly, twisting his fork to gather up as much spaghetti as he can. “Liver is _terrible_.”

Selvig shakes his head, gives a snort of laughter unbecoming of an accomplished astrophysicist. “Besides the liver, how was the conference?” he asks.

“I’m going to murder Spencer Smythe when I next see him,” John cheerfully tells him, “and you’re going to help me hide the body.”

“No, I won’t,” says Selvig, “because contrary to what you might think, most scientists actually frown on murdering people and hiding the body. For one thing, it’s unethical and illegal.”

John pauses. “Yeah, okay, fair,” he concedes, “but _still_. This is the _fifth time_ he’s implied my research is all just wild conjecture!” He waves a hand out at the window, and says, “Like _his_ research is completely scientific either. _Robotic surveillance spiders_ , what the fuck is wrong with him. At least mine doesn’t terrify people or invade their privacy.”

“Smythe’s an asshole, you don’t have to concern yourself with him,” says Selvig, with a sigh. “Your research is worlds away from his, anyway.”

“Yeah, but between the two of us,” grumbles John, “Smythe’s the one with the funding from Oscorp, and I’m the guy who has to build half his own equipment out of scrap parts from his apartment.”

“Oscorp’s terrible,” says Selvig.

“You’ve said,” says John, running his hand through his hair. “I just--I don’t _know_ , Erik. Every time I open my mouth at one of these someone’s always going to try and blow holes in my data or my theories, and if it’s not _fucking Reed Richards_ , it’s Smythe. And--And they’ve got the funding, and I don’t.”

Selvig watches him, then bites into his burger and chews thoughtfully, gesturing for John to go on.

“I know what you’re going to say,” John says, “I got into academia, I should expect people trying to blow holes in my research. And I do, that’s why I stay up all night reconciling data, that’s why I call you and bounce theories off you. But this is just--” He sighs, buries his face in his hands. “I don’t know. ‘S’hard, you know? I say _Einstein-Rosen bridges_ and not one person listens to anything after that.” He looks out the window, up at the afternoon sky, the clouds drifting past them. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it.”

Selvig swallows, and says, “Galileo Galilei was an astronomer.”

“Yeah, yeah, Galileo figured out the earth revolved around the sun and got shit for it,” says John, leaning back in his chair and waving a hand. “So?”

“So, Galileo was endorsing heliocentrism in a time when the Aristotelian and Tychonic models were the dominant scientific theories, and when going against these ideas meant you could be branded a heretic by the Catholic Church,” says Selvig. “Granted, he became very _good_ at skirting around any limitations put on him, but at the same time--the 1600s wasn’t exactly the best time to go against the Church.”

“Okay, and?”

“And now we know for certain that Galileo had it right from the start,” says Selvig.

John pauses, then grins at him. “So you’re saying I could be Galileo,” he says, reaching over to steal a fry from Selvig’s plate.

“No, I didn’t,” says Selvig, swatting at John’s hand. “What I am saying is that if you think you’re on to something, you go after it. If it doesn’t pan out, fine. If it does, though, well.” He smiles at John, says, “I’ve got your back.”

John ducks his head, huffs out a laugh. “Does that mean I can poach an intern from you?” he asks.

“Don’t push it, John.”)

\--

There’s an attack in DC on the second day.

Anakin knows, because it’s one of the first things he hears from Ahsoka when he wakes up at noon and makes them a very late breakfast (more like lunch, for Ahsoka)--two omelettes and some bacon.

“The _hell_ ,” says Ahsoka, staring at her phone.

“What,” says Anakin.

“There’s a bunch of guys shooting up a black van in DC,” she says. “Here, look, somebody uploaded video footage--”

Anakin leans over her shoulder, squints at the sight. “Shit,” he says. “What the hell is going on in America right now?”

“I have no clue,” Ahsoka confesses, then taps on another video. “Somebody else caught footage of some guy standing in the middle of the street blowing the van up. _How?_ ”

“I don’t know,” says Anakin, “but I have a very bad feeling about this.”

\--

The videos go down within about two hours of going up. Ahsoka’s got most of them downloaded before then, though, and she spends much of the afternoon gathering information and connecting the dots, half on her laptop and half on her phone, making calls to people she doesn’t tell Anakin about.

Anakin’s impressed. And proud. He can see why the Rebellion took her in. She’s good at information, gathering and disseminating, correlating and collating and collaborating.

Around five, she leans back in her chair and says, “Do you know anything about Nick Fury?”

“The guy who runs SHIELD?” says Anakin, as he’s washing the dishes. Half of them today, the rest he’ll do tomorrow, when he feels more human. “Besides that, not much. Anything I should know?”

“He’s Master Windu,” says Ahsoka. “And as far as I can tell, there’s a high chance that attack targeted _him_.”

“Back up,” says Anakin, whirling around so fast the dish nearly clatters to the ground, and he only narrowly manages to keep it from crashing through speedy reflexes. “Fucking _Windu_?”

“Yep,” says Ahsoka.

Anakin does the calculations in his head. “That mother _fucker_ ,” he swears, clutching both the dish and the dishcloth close to his chest. “He took all my stuff in New Mexico! I’m going to kick his _ass_ , I swear to god--wait, targeted?”

“Yeah,” says Ahsoka. There’s a shadow in her eyes, in the way her jaw has tensed, staring down at her phone. “Someone went after him. Specifically. He’s underground now, no one knows where he’s gone.”

Anakin puts the dish aside, and sits down.

“Fuck,” he says. “I have to tell Thor. He’s an Avenger, he must’ve known him.” Master fucking Windu is _Nick Fury_ , head of SHIELD. Head of the biggest and most suspicious spy organization that Anakin has ever seen. He could almost laugh at the irony, if he felt like laughing--Mace Windu, a _spy_.

On second thought, looking back, it’s not that ironic.

“You okay?” says Ahsoka.

“I just found out Mace Windu probably knew who I was this whole time,” says Anakin. “No, I’m not okay. And he’d better pull through, wherever he’s gone.”

\--

Somewhere on the outskirts of London, Bodhi Rook says, “Okay, everyone onboard?”

“We may have left someone behind,” says Chirrut, gravely serious.

Baze sighs. “I left the dog with Jiya, she’ll be fine,” he says.

“You adopted a dog?” says Jyn, craning her neck from her seat in the first row. “All _I’ve_ been doing is trying not to murder Windham.”

“Still nothing on Fury,” says Cassian, re-dialing Hill’s number, hanging on to a rapidly thinning hope. “Hill, come on, pick up, _pick up_ \--”

\--

Darcy calls Ahsoka, a little after five. Anakin’s gone back to sleep, having eaten an early dinner after some prodding, and she’s heading out to check on some contacts when her phone rings-- _hey, I just met you, and this is crazy_ \--

She fumbles with her phone, curses when she presses the reject button, and has to call Darcy again to say, “Shit, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to press reject--”

“Whoa, cool, it’s fine,” says Darcy. “I’ve done that before, happens to the best of us. What’s up?”

“I’m heading out,” says Ahsoka. “Checking on a few friends of mine.”

“Sure,” says Darcy, sounding distracted. In the background, Ahsoka hears a noise, a woman’s voice asking why there’s so much _Star Wars_ in her Netflix queue. “Hey, after you do that, you wanna meet up? I know a great place to eat dinner.”

“Don’t say Bob Bob Ricard, do _not_ ,” laughs Ahsoka, wondering which one of them is going to bring up the giant, black-clad, oddly-breathing elephant in the room.

“I was gonna say Café Helen on Edgware Road,” says Darcy, with a snort of laughter. “They make a great shawarma over there. You would love it.”

“I’ll be there,” Ahsoka promises, with a smile. She looks back at Anakin’s bedroom door, sends a little bit of warmth along their bond, then opens the door and steps out into the corridor. “Pick me up around seven?”

“I’ll harass my cousin into letting me borrow her dinky car, sure,” says Darcy. “I’ll be expecting you.”

\--

When Anakin wakes, it’s to the sound of his doorbell ringing.

He groans, tries to mash his face into his pillow. Who the _fuck_ would be here now--

“Anakin!” Obi-wan’s voice calls. Anakin spits out a curse into his pillow and tries to mash his face in even further. Maybe he’ll suffocate. Maybe Obi-wan will go away and leave him to be miserable in peace. He wonders where Ahsoka is, briefly searching her out in the Force and sighing in relief when he senses her sending some concern his way. “Anakin, I know you’re in there. Open up.”

 _Go away,_ he thinks, as loud as he can. _Just leave me alone._

“Anakin, I know you’re awake,” calls Obi-wan. “Let me in.”

Anakin groans against his pillow, but swings his legs out of bed, trudges out of his bedroom and to his door to let Obi-wan in.

“Well,” says Obi-wan, staring at him in his pajamas and his disheveled state, “you look a sight.”

“Can I go back to sleep now?” says Anakin, irritably.

“Was that all you were doing for the past few days?” says Obi-wan, striding in like he owns the damn place. He fits in better than Anakin does. “Sleeping?”

“And what were you doing?” Anakin snaps back.

“Making sure my café was cleaned up,” says Obi-wan. “As is my job as its owner.”

“Why aren’t you there now?” says Anakin, following him into the kitchen. “And if you’re looking for tea, I only have coffee.”

“Because I wanted to see how you were doing,” says Obi-wan, pulling open a cupboard. “All Ahsoka’s told me is that you told your intern and Dr. Selvig, and they left.”

“They had the courtesy to not chop my limbs off and leave me to burn, at least,” Anakin mutters, bitterly.

Obi-wan stills. “Anakin,” he starts.

“Don’t lie to me on this one,” says Anakin, feeling the anger swelling in his chest. “If you really loved me, you wouldn’t have left me there to _burn_.” He grips the edge of the counter, the linoleum cracking under his metal hand, cracks spidering out like fault lines. “If you really loved me, you wouldn’t have lied to me, _or_ to Luke.”

“First of all,” Obi-wan starts, calm as ever, but the kind of calm that means _he’s_ this close to snapping too, and some part of Anakin is viciously glad, “I didn’t lie to Luke. I simply told him the truth. From a certain point of view.”

“You _lied to him_ ,” Anakin snaps.

“Second of all,” says Obi-wan, stepping closer now, steely blue eyes meeting Anakin’s heated glare, “which one of us lied for _years_ about his marriage? Which one of us decided to trust a _Sith Lord_ over his own friends? Over the people who _cared_ \--”

“The Jedi never cared!” Anakin snaps, and, huh. Of all the things to come back after his depressive episode, it had to be anger. “People looked at me and saw _the Chosen One_ , they never thought, hey, maybe this guy needs some therapy--”

“People looked at you and saw _hope!_ ” Obi-wan yells back. “They _trusted_ you! Hell, _I trusted you_ \--”

“Really, because I sure as hell didn’t _feel_ that trust,” Anakin spits. “ _Rako fucking Hardeen_ \--”

“Your _marriage_!” Obi-wan snaps. “The Tuskens! All those secrets you kept from me, and from the people who loved you! You, of _all people_ , have no right to lecture me on trust, when you were the one who led the march on the temple!”

“You tried to get my own son to _kill me_ ,” Anakin snarls.

“I told Luke _what I knew to be true_ ,” Obi-wan says. “And all the evidence I had said you were fully consumed by Darth Vader--”

“For _fuck’s_ sake, Darth Vader _is_ me!” Anakin yells. “Just because I fell to the Dark Side doesn’t mean I up and died, fuck you very much, you _asshole_ \--”

“So you admit that you willingly did all that and mercilessly slaughtered all those people, yes, thank you for telling me something I’ve _always known_ , you’re astute as always--”

“ _And you’re a goddamn liar as always,_ ” Anakin screams, and somewhere in the living room, a vase explodes. “Fuck you and your _certain point of view_ bullshit, Kenobi! Just tell me you didn’t give a shit about me all along--”

“Why would you think I never _cared_ about you?” Obi-wan says, and the coffee table flips over in the living room, spills papers and books and scientific journals all over the floor. “I _did_! I loved you so much I would’ve _left_ the Order for you, I loved you so much that even after your fall I couldn’t _kill you_!”

“Yeah, you loved me so much you left me to fucking _burn_ ,” Anakin growls. “And then, what, you sidle up to me at a bar, let me hit on you like _nothing fucking happened_ \--”

“Because for John Foster it _didn’t_ ,” says Obi-wan.

Anakin stares at him, then throws his hands up in the air. “Are you seriously doing this again?” he says. “Are you--don’t answer that, of course you are, _I’m Foster._ Or he’s me, whatever.”

“I thought you said earlier you were also Vader,” says Obi-wan.

“Because it’s _true_ ,” says Anakin. “I just--you don’t get it, you’ve _never_ gotten it, no matter what name I go by, no matter what kind of delusions I’m under at the moment, the fact remains that _I’m still me_.” He breathes out, looks down at the fault lines in the linoleum tiles. “And you’ve never been able to get it, you’ve never been able to understand.”

“Because you’ve never let me in,” says Obi-wan. “How could I understand, if you’ve never even let me? If you keep everything to yourself, or worse, if you trust someone you shouldn’t instead?”

Anakin shuts his eyes. “How could I ever?” he asks, the anger seeping out of his bones, leaving him unsteady on his feet, despairing and broken. “You’ve never cared. You just--You never believed in me. You didn’t trust me then.”

“I always trusted you,” says Obi-wan, quiet. “You were my brother, Anakin. Perhaps--I should’ve told you that sooner. And more often.”

Anakin lets out a breath, opens his eyes, then looks up at Obi-wan. “That’s the truth?” he says, exhausted.

“That’s the truth,” Obi-wan confirms. “And not from any point of view, either.”

“Okay,” says Anakin. “I--I’m sorry. About the things I did. I know nothing I can say or do will wipe any of it away, not the Temple, not the Tuskens, not all those years, but for what little it’s worth, I’m sorry. About everything, and about the secrets I kept from you that I should’ve told you about.”

“And I suppose I have my own apologies to make, as well,” says Obi-wan, and he’s just as exhausted as Anakin feels--his shoulders are slumped, his gaze is averted, and he looks almost the same as the tired old man he’d met on the Death Star, who’d lifted his blade and faded away into the Force. “I’m sorry. For the secrets I kept from you, and for not telling you until it was too late. For--well, everything.”

Anakin pauses. “I don’t have tea, like I said,” he says. “Just coffee. You take it with anything?”

Obi-wan grimaces, but says, “If I must, I take it with five sugars.”

“You’re going to rot your teeth out,” Anakin informs him, stepping around him to pull out a bag of instant coffee and a jar of sugar.

\--

“This is some really good shawarma,” says Ahsoka, licking the grease off her fingers.

“I know, right?” says Darcy. “It’s like the shawarma heaven probably serves.” She finishes her shawarma off, gives a delighted moan that Ahsoka snickers at, then reaches over to steal one of her fries. “I could die right now, I wouldn’t even mind.”

“I would,” says Ahsoka, “and back off, those are mine.”

“Too bad, I’m footing the bill,” says Darcy, unrepentant. For good measure, she hooks her foot around Ahsoka’s.

“I’m forty-three, I am way too old for footsie,” Ahsoka huffs.

Darcy squints at her. “No,” she says, “you look twenty-eight or so--ooh, what’s your secret?”

“I walked through an ancient Sith temple and came out here,” says Ahsoka. “It was really weird. Also, kinda traumatic.”

“Yeah, okay, I wanna look young and hot at forty but not that badly,” says Darcy, wincing. “Doc looks young and hot. For a guy who looked like the world’s saddest egg in _Return of the Jedi_.”

“I have theories,” says Ahsoka, propping her hand up on her chin, “but nothing really solid about whatever’s going on. I guess there’s some side effects of travel between universes that no one’s ever found, I know Master Windu had both eyes when he was _Master Windu_.”

“No,” says Darcy, jaw dropping. “No way. _Nick Fury_?”

Ahsoka winces, says, “Maybe say it quieter?”

“ _Whoa_ ,” says Darcy. “Learning all sorts of fun things today.” She looks down at her plate, and says, “And, um. Not so fun things.”

“I was wondering when we’d get there,” says Ahsoka. “Okay, come on, out with it.”

“Do I still have a job?” Darcy says. “Like, okay, I don’t get paid, but also I have worked too hard at this to jump ship now, and I don’t wanna go looking for somebody else so I can get, what, six college credits?” She shakes her head. “No way, man. I’ll stick with Doc.”

“Huh,” says Ahsoka, “that was unexpected. Here I thought you were looking for another internship.”

“You spend two summers with a guy, you get real attached,” Darcy drawls. “Also, I work with him, I see you more often. That’s a win-win situation all around, won’t you agree?”

“With that kind of logic, how can I not?” says Ahsoka. “Come on, I’ll take you back to the apartment.”

“Nope, I have a car,” says Darcy, triumphantly brandishing her keys. “Okay, I borrowed it from my cousin Gwen. Maybe we could have--”

“It’s too cramped, and I’m not going to risk your cousin’s wrath,” says Ahsoka.

Darcy stares at her. “I don’t even want to know how you know a cheap Beetle is too cramped,” she says.

\--

“What the _fuck_ , Doc.”

Anakin glances up from his coffee. Across the table, Obi-wan sips morosely at his.

“Darcy?” Anakin says, incredulous. “What are you--I thought I told you--”

“I decided to stay,” says Darcy, waving her hand. “Your living room looks like a tornado, by the way.” She looks at Obi-wan and says, “Ben, Ben--Ben Kenobi? _Obi-wan Kenobi?_ ”

“Hello,” says Obi-wan, mildly. “I hear from Anakin you’re dating Ahsoka. I trust I don’t have to tell you what happens if you break her heart?”

“Obi-wan Kenobi _gave me the shovel talk_ ,” says Darcy, sounding dazed.

“Obi-wan, don’t threaten my girlfriend!” yells Ahsoka from the living room. “Oh, hell, what happened to the vase? I _liked_ that vase!”

Anakin sets his coffee down, then stands up. He steps forward, and pulls Darcy into a hug.

“I missed you,” he says, lowly. “I told you to leave but _I missed you_.”

“Aww, big guy, thanks,” says Darcy, patting him on the back. She’s warm, he realizes, though not as warm as Thor the Asgardian furnace. “You can let go now.”

He breaks the hug and peels away from her, holding on to her shoulders. “I thought you were going to find another internship,” he says. “I mean, you didn’t exactly leave happily.”

“You just up and said _hey guys, I just remembered I committed like twenty years’ worth of mass murder and torture for a shriveled potato_ ,” says Darcy. “I needed to get my head wrapped around that. Also, I needed to catch up on _Dog Cops_.”

Anakin huffs out a laugh, lets go of her shoulders, and stuffs his hands into his pajama pants. “Yeah, okay, Palpatine does look like a shriveled potato,” he says, with a smile. “Now that you put it like that, I’ve been an idiot.”

“Say that again,” says Obi-wan, pulling out his phone, “I’ll have to record it. This is a _momentous_ occasion.”

“That’s me, the girl who puts everything into perspective,” Darcy agrees. “Also, uh, your living room looks like a tornado passed through it.”

Anakin pauses, then steps out of the kitchen and takes in the state of the living room--the overturned table, the scattered papers, the shattered remains of the vase, and Ahsoka picking her way through the aftermath.

“Uh,” he says.

\--

They get the living room sorted out, then Anakin pulls out the sofa bed.

“Remember what I said about sex and dates,” he says, sternly.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Anakin,” huffs Ahsoka, lightly smacking his shoulder with the back of her hand. He’s missed her, he knows now, he’s missed this easy rapport between them like almost nothing else.

“Are you sleeping anywhere, Kenobi?” says Darcy. “God, I can’t believe it. I’m talking to _Obi-wan Kenobi._ ”

“I can’t believe it,” Anakin mutters, glaring at Obi-wan. “How’d you charm my intern? You’re like, sixty.” He pauses, mentally calculating, then says, horrified, “Fuck me, if you’re sixty, that means I’m, what, in my _fifties_?”

“My driver’s license says I’m thirty-eight,” says Obi-wan. “But, yes, that means you’re somewhere around your fifties. At least. And who knows, maybe you’re as old as I am.”

“That’s just a horrifying thought,” Anakin grumbles. “Anyway, like Darcy asked, you got anywhere to sleep? It’s a little late to get home.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can manage,” says Obi-wan, dryly.

“Not really,” says Ahsoka, pulling her phone out to show the news headlines. Anakin looks away, focuses on rearranging his journals into a specific order. “An alien invasion occurred literally a day ago. Roads are still closed, people are still paranoid, there’s a lot of crime going on around Greenwich.”

“I can handle myself well enough, Ahsoka, thank you for your concern,” says Obi-wan, with a huff. “Anakin?”

“Nope,” says Anakin. “You can sleep on my bed, I’ll take the floor.”

“I can’t impose on you like that,” says Obi-wan, blinking at Anakin. “It’s _your_ bed.”

“I’m offering,” says Anakin.

“If you won’t take the bed I will, I barely ever sleep in a real bed anymore,” says Darcy, as cheerfully blunt as always. It startles a laugh out of Anakin. “Dude, I was being serious. Half the time, I’m napping on your sofa.”

“After this, you can nap in my apartment,” Ahsoka promises.

Obi-wan huffs out a breath. “I’ll take the floor, you’ll take the bed,” he says. “It’s yours anyway.”

“If you take the floor I’ll throw you out of the bedroom,” Anakin says. “I’ve slept enough anyway, I have some writing to catch up on and e-mails to send, and I can’t write in _bed_.” It’s pure bullshit, Anakin doesn’t quite feel up for writing even an e-mail, but it’s a good enough excuse that Obi-wan only narrows his eyes at him briefly before he nods, at last.

“All right, fine,” says Obi-wan, “I can see when democracy’s working against me.”

“Who said anything about democracy,” says Anakin, “this is _my_ apartment.”

\--

They head to sleep. Anakin keeps up the pretense of working on important papers until he’s certain Obi-wan’s asleep, then he saves what little he’s actually managed to do, turns off his laptop, and leans back against the wall. He pulls a knee up to his chest.

He sucks in a deep breath, holds, then exhales. Inhale, hold, exhale. Inhale, hold, exhale.

He can _hold his breath_.

It’s a stupid thing to be happy about, and he’s been breathing on his own for _years_ , but joy bubbles up in his chest anyway, a laugh tickling at the back of his throat. His head practically spins at all the things he can do now, unhindered by the suit or shoddy prosthetics or Palpatine’s demands--breathe, run, drink beer or coffee or that energy drink-vodka combination he’d tried out back in college, eat unhealthy junk food, have sex, do parkour.

_Breathe._

He breathes out, dizzy with delight. Maybe he can find Padmé and--

And--

The joy vanishes, as if it had never even been, the moment he thinks of Padmé.

What kind of husband is he? He’d killed her, he’d hurt their children, and then he’d gone and forgotten about all of it and he’d sworn to be _true_ , Force help him, he’d sworn to always be true and faithful to her. That had been the one oath he hadn’t broken, the _only promise_ \--

He muffles his sob with his flesh hand, pulls his other knee up to his chest. He knows immediately what Darcy might say about it, something about amnesia and not blaming himself for an accident he couldn’t have avoided. Hell, he knows that logically, he can’t really blame himself either for it.

But sometimes logic is different from what he really, truly knows, deep within his heart.

 _You were a traitor, weren’t you, Lord Vader?_ Palpatine’s voice echoes, from long ago.

_You were a traitor._

Years ago it would have made him angry. It had made him angry, at the time, stoked the hatred and anger that fed his power from the Dark Side. Now it’s different, now all he feels is a resigned, guilty kind of despair.

For all the faults the Jedi Order had, they hadn’t deserved to be massacred, down to the youngest. For all the faults Obi-wan had and still has, he didn’t deserve what Anakin had done to him.

And Padmé--

\--god, _Padmé_.

_I killed her._

His breath catches in his throat, and he curls into himself even more. If he ever finds her--

Maybe he won’t. Maybe Padmé’s moved on, married someone else, someone who didn’t kill her, someone who loves her truly and deeply, someone who looks at her and sees the angel he’d seen so long ago.

He’ll be happy for her, if that’s the case, even if it breaks his heart. He lost any right to her heart years ago.

He breathes in, breathes out, and reaches up a hand to wipe away his tears.

Tomorrow he’ll try and forget. Tomorrow he’ll step out of the bedroom, out into the city, and breathe in the London air, the smoke and the shit and the distant smell of food. Tomorrow he won’t think about Padmé.

Tomorrow he’ll breathe.

But for now, he lets himself imagine the shape of Padmé’s smile, the sound of her laugh, the feel of her hair in his hand.

If it leads to Mustafar, if it leads to him hating himself all the more for choosing power over a life with her--

\--well. It’s not as if he doesn’t deserve this loneliness, anyway, eating at him from the inside out, far deadlier than the Aether could ever hope to be.

\--

Nick Fury dies on the operating table at 1:03 AM, in Washington, DC.

Cassian gets there just as they’ve covered the man’s face, says, “No. _No._ ”

“I’m sorry,” says Captain America, and Cassian wants to snarl at him, wants to ask him if he ever even _knew_ the man on the slab. But Hill catches his eye, shakes her head, and Cassian is a good soldier who knows how to follow orders.

He shuts up, watches Fury’s body be wheeled out. Natasha walks out with the Captain, as if she were in a dream she can’t wake up from. Jyn and Bodhi walk in, nod to the Widow and the Captain as they pass, and look at Cassian.

Bodhi’s the first to say, voice shaky, “What happened?”

“Gunshot through the chest,” says Hill. “Punctured a lung, and with the previous injuries he’d sustained from just earlier in the day…”

She trails off, looks away to the operating room, biting at her lip as she glances down. Her left hand drifts to her right, and she rubs at the inside of her wrist.

“What do we know about who shot him?” says Jyn, her tone hard, angry. Cassian keeps an eye on Hill, his instincts telling him there’s something she’s hiding.

“We have the ballistics results,” says Hill. “Soviet slug, no rifling.”

“Man with a metal arm?” says Bodhi.

“No way,” scoffs Jyn.

“Yes,” Hill confirms, and Cassian doesn’t look down, to check if the floor is still underneath him.

“The Winter Soldier’s a ghost story,” says Jyn, crossing her arms.

“So is Rogue One,” Hill shoots back, cool as ever, and Cassian winces at her hard tone. They’re all ghosts here, if you ask him--Hill’s happens to be named Depa Billaba, Jedi Master. “The info came straight from Captain Rogers himself. Apparently he pursued the shooter once he could leave Fury alone with Agent 13.”

“How’s Carter?” says Cassian.

“Dealing,” says Hill, shortly.

“This is the same shooter as the one on the road yesterday?” says Bodhi. “I guess he’s determined.”

“He’s the Winter Soldier,” says Hill. “ _Determined_ is one way of putting it.”

“Do we know anything concrete about him?” says Cassian. “Like, why hide for seventy years and then suddenly show up in the middle of a busy street in DC in broad daylight? Doesn’t match.”

“That’s why I called Rogue One in,” says Hill. She smiles, if anyone could call it a smile, the way she pulls her lips back over her teeth like a wolf. Not for the first time, something twists in Cassian’s gut. He looks to the side, sees Bodhi wince and inch back from Hill. “If anyone can find that out, you could.”

Jyn lets out a long breath, then looks to Cassian. He nods, and she looks back at Hill and says, “Ghosts hunting ghosts, huh? Should we start with Captain Rogers?”

“I have a better idea,” says Cassian. “Do we have any confirmed assassinations by the Winter Soldier before Fury’s?”

“The engineer Romanov was escorting,” says Bodhi. “I remember--Soviet slug, no rifling.”

“So we start from there, work our way back,” says Jyn, glancing at Cassian again. He nods back at her. “Understood.”

“Good,” says Hill. “And--may the Force be with you, Rogue One.”

\--

“Fuck,” says Obi-wan, the next day.

Anakin wanders over, leans on him, and squints at the laptop screen. “Nick Fury, head of SHIELD, dead at 52,” he reads. “Fuck.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” says Ahsoka. “When?”

“I’m trying to call Hill,” says Obi-wan, “she’s not picking up--”

Anakin blinks at him, then at Ahsoka. “I’m--not getting it,” he says. “You're in contact with who? Who's _Hill_?”

“You knew her,” says Obi-wan.

Anakin stares at him, then at the screen, where a picture of Maria Hill, in one of her rare public appearances nearly a decade ago, is displayed, one where she's standing tall, arms folded across her chest, just beside Fury, standing ramrod straight, lone eye watching something warily.

Obi-wan counts silently down, _three, two, one_ \--

“Mother _fucker_ ,” says Anakin, eyes growing wide as it dawns on him. “ _Mace Windu's goddamn padawan_?”

“What’s this about Mace Windu?” says Darcy, munching on her breakfast waffle. “Are we comparing Samuel L. Jackson’s best roles? ‘Cause I loved _Snakes On A Plane_ , not gonna lie.”

“Nick Fury’s Mace Windu and his right hand woman is his former padawan Depa Billaba,” says Obi-wan, and Anakin lets out a venomous curse in Huttese. “Anakin, calm down.”

“That _fucker_ Windu stole my stuff in New Mexico!” Anakin snaps, and, huh, he’s not really surprised Anakin can still hold a grudge like nothing else. “I can’t calm down! And now _this_ , how many of us _are_ there, anyway? And--And no one thought to _say_ anything to me--”

“He’s also dead now,” says Obi-wan, deciding not to argue with the last part. It's true enough, anyway, no one had ever said anything to Anakin about who he'd been, for good reason.

Anakin opens his mouth, then shuts it again. “Oh,” he says. “Right. Fuck, again? This is, what, the second time?”

“At least you have an alibi this time,” Darcy says, absurdly cheerful for the subject she’s jumped on. Obi-wan winces, and he spies Ahsoka’s brow creasing as she huffs out an exasperated sigh in her girlfriend’s direction. “Nothing says _I didn’t do it_ like being an ocean away at the time.”

“Hah,” says Anakin. “Thanks, I knew I could always count on you for a silver lining.”

“That’s what you don’t pay me for, Doc,” says Darcy, pleasantly. “Want a waffle? They’re tasty.”

\--

Selvig knocks on the door, as Anakin’s working his way through the data left behind on the gravimetric spikes, sorting it into different categories and keeping himself awake with coffee and sheer willpower.

He looks up from his laptop and says, “Can one of you get that? Darcy?”

“All due respect, Doc, nope,” says Darcy, her feet kicked up on the coffee table. The living room looks mostly presentable now, the vase’s remains swept away and the furniture straightened out. “Why not ask Ahsoka?”

“Busy,” says Ahsoka, eyes closed, moving through katas. “Obi-wan’s free.”

“I don’t work for you,” says Obi-wan, rummaging through Anakin’s cupboards. “Force, Anakin, don’t you have _anything_ in here that’s even vaguely healthy?”

“I’m an adult with a doctorate in particle physics, I can absolutely eat as much junk food as I want,” says Anakin, before he saves what he’s managed to go through with a sigh. “Fine, I’ll go get it.”

He stands up, stretches his arms out, moves around Ahsoka now practicing a handstand in the living room like a _show-off_ , and opens the door.

“Hey,” says Selvig, holding up a plastic bag full of prescription meds. “I had my meds changed out, else I’d have been back here much sooner.”

Anakin stares at him for a moment, feeling selfish relief bloom in his chest, a strange kind of warmth spreading out from his lungs that not even his overwhelming guilt can dampen. “You came back,” he manages.

“I thought it over,” says Selvig, as grumpy as ever. “God knows you’d pick a fight in three different conferences if I wasn’t around.” He sighs, then says, “What do you go by, anyway?”

Anakin shrugs. “Not Vader,” he says. “That’s not a name I go by anymore.” He tugs absently at his medical bracelet, says, “But John’s as good a name as any.”

“John, then,” says Selvig, spreading his arms wide. “C’mere.”

Anakin steps forward, lets Selvig wrap him in a hug and tries not to go still. He’s not sure he’s completely successful, but at least Selvig’s not naked this time, so he hugs back.

“Selvig!” Darcy calls. “Ooh, you’re wearing pants!”

“Unfortunately,” Selvig grumbles, as Anakin breaks away and steps aside to let him in. “Ashley!”

“Ahsoka,” Ahsoka corrects, carefully balancing herself on one hand, her eyes closed. Darcy’s leaning forward, eyes wide in awe. “Hi, Dr. Selvig.”

 _Show-off,_ Anakin sends.

 _Where do you think I got it from?_ Ahsoka responds, her mental voice full of amusement.

“Oh, _there_ you are,” calls Obi-wan from the kitchen. “You’re slightly more sensible than Anakin is, surely you know if he keeps _anything_ healthy in here.”

“He doesn’t, I should know, I’ve _tried_ ,” says Selvig, moving around Ahsoka with some trepidation. “Burgers and leftover takeout can only get you so far, John.”

“They’ve gotten me pretty far,” says Anakin, stepping closer to Ahsoka, reaching out to brush a finger along her sole and break her concentration.

She reacts faster than he does, and in a flash Anakin’s flat on his back on the floor, wrist pinned to his carpet.

“Again?” says Ahsoka. “This got old when I was _fifteen_.”

“Good job, seeing me coming like that,” says Anakin, collecting what little dignity he has left and steadfastly not looking at Darcy, who’s got her phone within easy reach and is no doubt uploading this onto Instagram. “Can you let me up now?”

“Give me a sec,” says Darcy. Sure enough, she’s holding her phone out, and Anakin hears the tell-tale click of the camera. “I’m so uploading this to Facebook,” she says, with a little cackle.

Ahsoka huffs out a laugh, then gets to her feet and holds her hand out. “Come on up,” she says, and Anakin takes her hand, lets her pull him up. “You’re rusty.”

“I had amnesia for a decade or so, it’s forgivable,” says Anakin, as Darcy hops off the sofa and races off to the kitchen, shouting something about her Pop-Tarts. “You kept up.”

“Well, I had someone who taught me the value of keeping up on my training,” says Ahsoka, with a smile. “Looking back, he was a pretty good guy.”

Anakin smiles, and slings his arm around her shoulders, pulls her in close until they’re side by side. “Come on,” he says, “let’s see if we can placate Erik and Obi-wan.”

\--

Thor comes back just as the sun starts to set. Anakin knows, because the rain pours down the second he steps out onto the rooftop, and he waits a few more seconds before it subsides.

He steps out then, perches himself near the edge of the roof, and looks up at the sky, slowly growing darker. He pulls a knee up to his chest and watches for the first stars.

He should head down, perhaps. Greet Thor like everyone else must be doing, introduce him to Obi-wan, do damage control.

He stays up on the rooftop instead, as the sky slowly grows darker, pink turning to purple to the black of the night sky, interrupted only by the moonlight and the pinpricks of starlight. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine Luke and Leia and even that smuggler Han, looking up at the Endor sky, free of the second Death Star’s shadow.

He hears the sound of heavy footsteps, a soft chuckle as the door opens. “I thought I’d find you up here,” says Thor, behind him.

Anakin smiles.


End file.
